


to let you shine

by Neffectual



Series: From An In-Ring Perspective [11]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Sappy, Self-Doubt, Worshipful Love, adoration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:06:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has so much doubt, so many swirling thoughts he can't let go of, so much noise in his head. Roman helps him find the calm and quiet he needs, and reminds him that he is very, very loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to let you shine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Captain Big Dick Ambrose](http://captainbigdickambrose.tumblr.com/) over at tumblr, who was needing a little love. I hope this helps, sweet thing. Know that you are very loved.
> 
> Title from 'Boats and Birds' by Gregory and the Hawk. People have commented in Black Cat and Sweet Prometheus that they feel sorry for Roman, because I write Dean as confident in his own love, and in what he needs from people. This is more how I actually think about Dean when I write him.

Roman doesn’t give Triple H the time of day in the ring, arching one smug eyebrow and rolling his eyes at the transparent attempts to get him to turn on Dean and take his rightful place at the top of the card, but Dean still watches the whole segment with his heart in his throat, waiting for the words it would be so easy for Rome to say, the way it would be so easy for him to walk away from Dean for good this time. Dean doesn’t kid himself that he’s worth much, a consolation prize, the sort of thing you wake up to after a drunken night of mistakes, and regret immediately. When Roman looks at him, he squirms under the scrutiny, can’t stand to be still under that measuring gaze, always so weighted and placid.

But Roman says no, says he won’t, and Dean lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and his shoulders relax as he watches the match against Big Show, who’s so laughably slow that the match is basically going to be tortoise and hare. He’s not worried about Roman climbing to the top of the mountain, not worried as to whether or not he’s going to beat Tyler Breeze, who’s so green he’s practically got grass growing on him; he’s worried that they can’t stay like this, not forever, that someone will come between them and it will all tumble down. Dean’s not stupid, he knows he’s got a good body – hard not to in this business – but he’s not classically handsome like Roman, his hair is thinning, he talks to much and his mouth is always too wide, and he doesn’t have secrets, an open book to everyone who meets him. Roman is a cavern, dark and forbidding, warm and safe harbour in the storm, and Dean is the raging tide, the winds, the sting of salt spray and sand in your eyes until you forget that you’re not actually crying.

 

One night, he’ll change his mind. That’s what colours Dean’s thoughts, over and over as they head back stateside and go back to show after show. One night, Roman bans him from ringside, and Dean punches a wall the second he’s out of sight, like breaking his fingers can stop all this pain that’s rising in his chest.

Dean’s uncharacteristically silent in the car on the way back to the hotel, Roman tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music on the radio, but it’s all lost in a sea of thoughts for Dean, awash on the trail of worry and fear that he won’t get to do this much longer, won’t get to travel with Rome, sleep in his bed, curl in against his side in the ring and hear ‘brother’ echoed from the crowd when all he feels is ‘lover’. It’s easy to imagine being forgotten, left behind as Roman battles for the title and Dean fades away as nothing but someone who used to know him inside and out, someone who used to be important, someone who looks a little like someone Roman once loved.

“You’re oddly quiet.” Roman’s voice rumbles out into the stillness of the car, making Dean jump a little, “Something on your mind?”

Dean shrugs, unable to voice all the thoughts churning and swirling inside of him.

“I wasn’t gonna take it, you know.” Roman adds, and Dean flinches that Ro knows him so well, “Not for a second would I leave you behind to take a hand-out.”

Dean nods, mouth still closed in a thin line, because if he speaks, it’s all going to spill out, and he wants to just keep it silent for a little longer, pretend he isn’t thinking this of the person he loves most in the whole world.

“I ain’t leaving you, baby boy. Don’t even give that the time of day.”

Dean’s breath shudders in, and he cracks a smile which has more in common with tears than happiness.

“Yeah, I know. Jus’ bein’ stupid. Like normal.”

Roman shakes his head as they pull into the parking lot of the hotel.

“And you’ve been lettin’ this sit for how long?”

“Few weeks.” Dean admits, grudgingly, “Not long.”

“Too long.” Roman says, firmly, and like always, it’s not a question.

 

The hotel room is like a million others they’ve seen from state to state, plain, dull, bland and beige, and Dean throws his bags into the corner and heads for the bathroom, taking first shower without asking for it, knowing Rome never minds. It wasn’t a good choice, because the pounding of the water gives him plenty of time to think, plenty of time to get lost in his own head, and that was never something he wanted. His brains plays him slow motion footage of Roman walking away from him, time and time again, and he jumps when Roman knocks on the door.

“Trying to drown yourself?” he asks, casually, sticking his head around the unlock door, “Cos there’s easier ways, and they wouldn’t mean you using up all the hot water.”

Dean laughs, but it sounds wrong even to him.

“You’re alright, pretty, I ain’t gonna be long, your hair’ll still look great.”

Roman sniffs.

“Course it will. Now get outta the fucking shower.”

Dean does as he’s told – he’s good at that, no matter how much he’ll say he isn’t – wrapping himself in the thin, scratchy hotel towel, Roman pushing past him almost before he’s out of the room, naked and glorious, all golden lines and tattooed contours. He takes Dean’s breath away, when he looks directly at him, like he’s looked at the sun.

Roman’s shower is thankfully brief, Dean in boxers and towelling his hair dry gently by the time Roman ambles out, towel around his waist and hair leaving wet trails down his body that Dean follows with his eyes until they slide under the towel.

“Got cold towards the end there, baby boy. Gonna have to start takin’ first go if you’re gonna be greedy.”

But I am greedy, Dean wants to say, I’m so greedy because I hate sharing you with the world, hate sharing you with anyone, want you to be next to me for the rest of my fucking life, want to rip you open and crawl inside you.

He doesn’t say anything at all, but he’s never needed to with Roman, never needed to articulate what he wants. For someone with a whole lot to say, Dean is curiously silent when it comes to talking about his emotions, his feelings, what he needs from other people. He’s too used to no one giving a shit what he wants from life, so he stopped talking about it and just started taking it instead.

Roman sits on the bed next to him, with nothing between the two of them but the hotel towel and Dean’s boxers, and doesn’t touch him.

“Baby boy, you’re bein’ quiet like a mouse tonight, I don’t like that. I wanna hear what you’re thinkin’.”

Dean shakes his head rapidly, last defence, last ditch attempt to keep it all silent, and Roman sighs. He stands up, heading to the bathroom, and comes out gloriously naked, Dean sure he’s going to dress and leave, because everyone leaves eventually, because why would anyone stay?

But he just settles on the other side of the bed, lying down, and then he turns sideways.

“C’mere.”

 

Being held by Roman is like a religious experience, like a blessing, like being touched by a god, and Dean curves into his arms so easily, like coming home.

“Nothing’s gonna make me leave you, baby boy, nothing in this world’s got the power to make that happen.” Roman whispers against his skin, trailing kisses across his bad shoulder, “It’s you and me against the world, always has been, and I ain’t letting that go.”

Roman’s hands dance at the waistband to his underwear, and Dean nods, jaggedly, before Roman slides them off him, the two of them skin to skin.

“So warm, so sweet against me,” Roman coos, “You’re so good, coming here just like I want, just like I need, bein’ so good for me.”

Roman feels like fire pressed against his skin, branding him, marking him, but Dean doesn’t say anything, can’t find words, can’t chase sentences.

“So many things I wanna do to you, baby boy, so much you let me do.” Roman’s kissing down his chest, and stops to suckle at Dean’s nipple, tender flicks of tongue and teasingly grating his teeth along it, making Dean hiss out a sound at the sharp pain melting into pleasure, “Yeah, so many things you’d let me do to you.”

“Please, Romie.” Dean manages to hiss out, voice cracking, before he shuts his mouth again as Roman pulls away, crawling up his body to kiss him lazily, sweetly, slowly. So much of their love is fast and rough and brutal, and Dean will wear the bruises for days, Roman will be scratched up, they’ll both be sore, and that’s perfect. But right now, it’s not what either of them needs, “Fuck, please.”

Roman presses a soft kiss behind his ear, eyes warm and gentle, and slips down his body again, kissing at his hipbone.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he says, between gentle presses of lips and tongue to Dean’s thigh, “Nothing. You ask me to hide a body and I’m there, you ask me to hold your fuckin’ hand and I’m there, you want me to kiss you in the middle of the ring, in front of everyone, I’ll fuckin’ do it.”

Dean makes a noise he’ll deny later, a mewl of want, of love, of lust, of how much it hurts to be told he can have his greatest desire, if he only asks for it.

“Yeah, that want you want?” Roman carries on, nuzzling Dean’s legs apart to kiss at the crease of thigh and buttock, “You want everyone to know I’m yours, wanna stake your claim, wanna tell the world that I love you?”

They don’t say it that often. They don’t need to say it that often, but like this, Roman always knows exactly what Dean needs.

“Wanna be yours.” Dean croaks out, and the smile Roman gives him is blinding.

“Always gonna be mine, baby, always.” He moves to Dean’s other thigh, the same slow, easy kisses that feel almost reverent, “Gonna be my sweet boy for eternity, not gonna let anyone else get their hands on you.”

Dean can believe him, now, these promises scored into his skin with lips and tongue, wants to feel like this forever, feel good enough, feel special, feel wanted. When Roman gets his head between his legs, flicking his tongue against Dean’s entrance, it’s easy to let his legs slide further apart, easy to take Roman into him the way Roman wears his love like a second skin. He doesn’t let his eyes close, wants to watch Roman take him apart, piece by piece, and put him back together stronger, smarter, made in the image of how Roman sees him every day.

“Wanna open up for me, baby boy, wanna get me inside you?” Roman asks, but it’s not really a question, because when has Dean ever wanted anything else, “Gonna make you feel so good, gonna love you so sweet.”

Roman loses all his grammar when he’s talking like this, when he’s painting odes of love into Dean’s skin, and nothing’s ever been more attractive than knowing that he wrecks Roman just like Roman ruins him.

“Romie…” Dean whines, and feels the curve of Roman’s smile against his thigh, “Want you to fuck me.”

Roman rolls his eyes, Dean can see it, then sits up.

“Not gonna fuck you tonight, baby.” He says, and Dean wonders if his whole face goes blank in panic, because Roman leans forward and kisses his mouth, gently nipping at his bottom lip, “Gonna make love to you.”

It should be corny, should be fucking stupid, but it’s Roman, and he’s always been perfect, and besides, a hot flash of lust spikes in Dean’s stomach at those words, like he’s being offered something he didn’t even know he needed.

“Yeah.” He pants out, suddenly breathless with the thought of it, “Love me.”

“Always do.” Roman murmurs back, nuzzling his cheek, “Always gonna.”

 

They both carry lube, because they’re spontaneous and incorrigible, so when Roman pulls a bottle out of his carry-on, Dean just lies in the bed, propped up on one elbow.

“Gonna spoil you tonight, gonna make it all so good for you.” Roman says, walking back to the bed, and Dean can’t help but smile, knows his face has gone soft and open.

“You always do.” He replies, and watches Roman’s smile quirk up at one side, his eyes all heat and want and longing, like they’ve been apart for years instead of minutes. He spreads his legs a little more, a show, before bringing his knees up, feet flat on the bed and apart, making it easy.

“So good, so good for me.” Roman whispers as he pumps the lube a few times, covering his fingers and kneeling between Dean’s legs like he’s settling into somewhere he’s always meant to have been. The first finger shouldn’t be a stretch, not with how often they do this, but there’s something different tonight, something about how careful Roman’s being with him that makes the sensation doubled.

“Fuck, Romie, your hands – “ he can’t say much more, because Roman’s moves to two fingers swiftly, and it pressing them up, unerringly seeking his prostate, but not with the strength he normally uses, just gentle glides, over and over, enough pleasure to make Dean moan and writhe, but not enough to send that white hot jolt of pure want through him.

“Could do this for hours, baby boy, watch you come apart for me, watch all those walls fall down and watch you stop worrying.” Roman says, kissing his hipbone again and pressing in a little deeper, making Dean arch a little, “Can’t run away from this, can’t tell me I don’t love you, can’t tell me this isn’t just what you need.”

“You’re always what I need.” Dean blurts out, all honest, and wishes he could claw it back, but Roman just keeps smiling, pressing a third finger into him and twisting just enough to make Dean close his eyes at the pressure. When he opens them again, Roman’s head is down, his breathing heavy, and his hair leaving damp trails on the insides of Dean’s thighs as he slowly slides his fingers in and out, just enough to make Dean clench down and try to hold Roman inside his body.

“Greedy.” Roman gently admonishes, as he pulls his fingers out and lubes himself up, “Gonna make you feel so good.”

As he lines up and pushes in, Dean finds Roman’s clean hand and tangles their fingers together, gripping hold of him like letting go would mean Roman was never there at all.

“Fuck, Romie, so good, so good – “ Dean’s speechless at the slow, steady stretch of Roman pressing into him, but his hand grips Roman like a lifeline.

“I know, you’re so perfect for me, every time, love to see you like this, love to know I make you look like this, wrecked and happy and everything.” Roman’s babbles, gasping for breath, so Dean can’t help but be a little wicked and squeeze around him, leaving Roman with a stuttered moan. Dean knows his smile is smug, but Roman kisses it away anyway, before pulling almost out and starting a steady, slow rhythm, grazing Dean’s prostate every time.

“I love you.” Dean says, and the words just slide out, so easy, easy like he is for Roman, easy like their love is; uncomplicated, unburdened.

“So much.” Roman replies, kissing him again as the drag of his hips speeds up a little, the air being punched out of Dean with each deep thrust, “So fucking much, baby boy, never letting go of you.”

There’s not much of Dean left, now, holding on by a thread because everything Roman says is just making him harder, everything he does is perfect, and he knows he doesn’t want this to end, but that he’ll come too soon anyway.

“Mine.” Roman growls out, voice low in the quiet of the room, just the creaking of the bed and their breaths making sound, “My boy, mine, always.”

It’s enough, Dean comes loudly, messily, so hard he’s almost sobbing with it at the end, and feels Roman give two, three stuttering thrusts before he comes, too, filling Dean up and collapsing onto him, holding him close.

 

Later, clean and curled together on the bed, Roman spooned up behind him with an arm around his waist, lazily stroking his thumb over Dean’s hipbone, Dean thinks how welcome he feels in Roman’s arms, how right it feels, and how he won’t let go of this feeling for anything in the world. Roman is home, safe haven, safe space, the one person who never lets anything bad happen to him, and who would protect him with his life if he had to. Roman is the only person in the world who has ever cared enough to ask if he’s okay, and ever known him enough to know when the answer is a lie. His heart beats against Dean’s back, like distance could melt away and let them merge, two souls held apart by only skin and bone. Dean doesn’t believe in destiny, doesn’t believe anyone gets what they deserve, because he’s seen too much of the world for that, but he doesn’t believe there’s a universe, anywhere, that Roman doesn’t belong to him.

“Mine.” He says, holding Roman’s hand for a second, feeling his thumb still on Dean’s skin, “My Romie, my all, my fuckin’ everything.”

Roman kisses the back of his neck, and doesn’t say anything. After all, he doesn’t need to, not right now. Dean knows just how loved he is.

It is enough.


End file.
